


Oil and Wine

by Argyle



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-10
Updated: 2007-08-10
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Tortuga, everything comes with a price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oil and Wine

James sells his shoe buckles first. They are heavy and silver, and the pawnbroker replaces them in his palm with several slick-backed coins. The culpability of this transformation makes him dizzy; by nightfall, his veins are full of rum.  
  
Later, reeling in the muck, he sees Elizabeth standing beneath a tavern torch. Her hair is pinned up in loose curls; a thin gold chain marks a path between her breasts. Her gown is unchanged from that day on the parapet, though its brocade roses appear bruised, and the lace has wilted.  
  
He knows this: her judgment will be swift.  
  
The fob goes next, along with his father’s watch. He buys a bowl of broth and another bottle of rum. The unspent coins hang heavily in a purse by his heart; they rattle when he walks, and clink when he staggers.  
  
Time takes on the viscosity of honey, and his tongue is all the more bitter for it. Had he a washbasin or mirror, he is certain he would not recognize his reflection.  
  
That night, a mob gathers to dunk old Carlos in the well again. It is not with wistfulness that James recalls a time when he would have tried to stop them, ordering that arrests be made and reparations granted: the sight is a familiar one, and once again it clots the atmosphere with the doddering brutality of a penny opera.   
  
Like one of the cherubic fountains which play in St. James’s Park, Carlos spits water from pursed lips and rarely utters a sound. Elizabeth gazes down to the street from a second story balcony, then, spotting James, retreats into shadow. For Carlos’s sake, he hopes the amusement in her face was merely a trick of the fickle light.   
  
James is saturated by the sultry air. His hair hangs limp about his face, and his jacket, too many times used as a pillow while he slept sprawled in alleyways, stiffens with a layer of mud. The gold frogging turns brown. The pawnbroker won’t have it, instead offering a song for the buttons on his waistcoat.  
  
He dreams of the hurricane, and wakes with her name on his lips. The syllables taste of salt.  
  
Not for the first time, he regrets the loss of his sword. When the _Pearl_ docks and Sparrow comes ashore, James has only a pistol and a scavenged blade, and even they are lost in the ensuing brawl. Elizabeth kneels by his side after he’s thrown out, and he feels the weight of her hand on his shoulder. His head throbs as with a recent blow; the tang of blood fills his mouth.  
  
He will sell whatever remains.  
  
Elizabeth’s voice is soft, mournful. A tired brown jacket sags over her too-thin shoulders, and her sun-bleached hair peeks out from beneath her tricorne with a sprightliness that does not reach the rest of her face. But then her lips ghost into the sliver of a smile, momentarily forgiving him his folly. The sight is a familiar one.


End file.
